It's Who You Know
by Cap'nHoozits
Summary: Modern AU. Scar struggles to find his place in humanity. Kimblee struggles just to be human. Stuffed full of previously dead canon characters and only a few OCs. Some names will be changed for reasons. Probably just a little swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**So, yes. A modern AU. I am resurrecting as many of the dead canon characters as I can squeeze in because it would be fun. Some will just be cameos because I can only devote myself to so many meaningful plot lines. There will be no alchemy or automail (the characters are well-rounded enough without it) and the history and political situation will be somewhat different. I will also be tweaking names and family relationships a bit.**

**Although it may seem like it, I'm not trying to do just a modern AU of Sons of the Desert. But for the sake of convenience, since this is a Scar-centric story, I will be using my established Ishvalan vocabulary, some of the customs, and the names I created. I will also be recycling one, maybe two or three, of my OCs for a major plot device. **

**If my presentation of high school life comes across as less than authentic, I apologize. Apart from being a student (a long time ago), the closest I got to being on the inside was working at an elementary/middle school cafeteria (yeah, I was a lunch lady), as well as being a parent of three students.**

**This is by way of being a preview/rough draft. I just felt like running it up the flagpole. Stuff might change.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"So, what's the new guy like?"

Olivier Armstrong lifted an eyebrow at her colleague and fellow assistant principal Solf Kimblee, who was something of a new guy himself. He'd only been here for a year. She had been with the school district for most of her professional life, practically straight from her masters program. Solf's credentials were less impressive, but his father swung a certain amount of influence. Her own father was rich and influential, but she never took advantage of that. _Some_ people got where they were by hard work and dedication.

"He's not the new guy _yet,_" she said. "He's in with Principal Bradley right now."

"Ah." Kimblee smirked a little. "King's giving him the evil eye test, huh?"

Olivier's lips twitched in a small frown. For someone who had been here for a relatively short time, Mr. Kimblee was far too familiar with his superiors. She didn't care if Principal Bradley and Mr. Kimblee Senior were golf/drinking buddies. When you were on the job, you were on the job.

Still, what he said was probably true. She had seen more than one teacher, not to mention many a student, quail under the principal's scrutiny.

"Well, I expect Mr. Ruhad will pass muster," Olivier remarked.

"Oh, yeah! He's Ishvalan, isn't he?" Kimblee asked.

"And he's highly qualified," Olivier added stiffly. "He was a teacher for a number of years in Ishval. I understand that his brother teaches at the university."

"Uh-huh." Like he cared, apparently. "Seriously, though. What's he like?"

Olivier thought she was being nothing but serious. And she was not about to satisfy what she felt was Kimblee's unseemly curiosity. She was not one to stand around the office hallways and gossip, not even with people she liked.

"He'll be a fine addition to our school," was all she said before heading back to her office.

She sat down at her desk and contemplated the empty chair that had, just about twenty minutes ago, been occupied by a potential candidate for the teaching staff.

"_So, why math?" She liked to ask teachers what drew them to a particular subject. To some, it was simply what they were good at, for others, it was a passion._

_The Ishvalan gentleman replied readily. "It's certain. It's black and white. One and one equals two, and that's it." His expression, intent enough to start with, darkened just a little. "There is no controversy. There is no time wasted on differing opinions or interpretations."_

"_I see." She had passed by classrooms where history or literature were being taught and would sometimes catch a bit of debate, which could be disruptive. She knew that teaching methods in Ishvalan schools were a bit stricter than here, and students were better disciplined. So what made this man leave that environment for an Amestrian school?_

_There was something about him that Olivier couldn't quite place. He seemed to emanate something. It might have been a kind of discomfort. It might just have been the fact that he was obviously not used to wearing a suit and tie, but that wasn't it. He wasn't nervous. He didn't shift around in his seat. He sat quite still, as a matter of fact, almost like he was holding himself in. _

_She was trying to decide how she felt about that scar on his face, too. According to his background check, he had been injured nearly two years ago in an explosion set off by the IPA, the Ishvalan People's Advocacy, a nice name for a small but problematic separatist movement that reared its head every now and then. A number of people had died in that tragedy, and the ring leaders had been arrested. It seemed as though Mr. Ruhad had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. _

_She particularly wondered how the students might react to the scar. Some of them could be such little turds. _

_She moved on with the interview. "Tell me about this twelve-month period of unemployment." She frowned a little at the resume in front of her. "If you don't mind me asking, what is a _surgun?"

_He stirred, just the tiniest bit. Did she hit a nerve? "It is a period of…exile," he explained. "A sort of purification process."_

"_Is this a common practice in Ishval?" Olivier asked._

"_No. It's very old, though," he explained, which was an interesting bit of information but neither here nor there._

_Olivier nodded. "Did it have to do with your recovery from your injury?"_

_He hesitated for a moment. "Indirectly," he said, then added, "It was a personal decision."_

_That really didn't answer her question, but she got the impression that it was a religious thing, and that wasn't something she was supposed to discuss. If it was personal, it was personal, and that was all there was to it._

* * *

Principal Bradley asked him roughly the same questions that Assistant Principal Armstrong did, so he was somewhat better prepared. Armstrong had maintained a businesslike detachment throughout the interview, something he approved of. Bradley came across as a benign patriarch, cordial and smiling, up until the moment his face went grave and his eye turned cold with menace. It was a subtle change, but noticeable enough. His other eye was covered with a patch so the effect that two eyes would have manifested were concentrated into one.

Andakar had gazed into his own private hell, so if this display was meant to be disquieting, it fell short.

Bradley seemed impressed and a smile reappeared. "Well, Andakar." He consulted the file in front of him. "Based on the results of your background check…" His tone sounded almost noncommittal and Andakar nearly gave in to an expectation of defeat. "…and on the strength of your letters of recommendation…" Bradley raised his head and beamed. "Let me be the first to welcome you to the halls of Central East."

He extended his hand across the desk, and for an instant, Andakar wasn't sure how to interpret the gesture. He collected himself quickly and stood up to shake the principal's hand. "Thank you, sir!"

He did not show just how deeply relieved he was. He had failed at so much already. But as significant an obstacle as this was, he knew it paled beside what was to come.

* * *

This was not a good idea, but Mattas knew it wouldn't make any difference to say so. As he passed by the bathroom door, he found his brother still messing with his tie. He paused outside the door.

"If you just stuck with the polo shirt, you wouldn't have to worry about that," he remarked.

Andakar stubbornly pulled the end of the tie through the knot. "Tomorrow, perhaps. It's the first day. I need to establish myself."

If he was wound up any tighter, his mainspring would snap. Mattas tried not to roll his eyes.

It was too soon. He should have waited. Mother thought so, too. When her younger son had returned from his _surgun_, even after he'd shaved off his year-old beard and cut his hair, she still almost didn't recognize him. What he had faced out in the desert, all by himself, might not have been pleasant.

That was Andakar's problem. He always had a tendency to overdo things. It was either all or nothing.

Mattas lifted his phone and tapped the screen. The clock said 6:30. This was going to happen every day. He sighed.

Andakar glanced at him. "I said I would take the bus."

Mattas shook his head. "No, it's okay. Didn't I say it would be okay?"

Andakar stepped back from the mirror and scowled at his reflection, and judging by the angle of his eyes it wasn't his tie-tying skills he was considering. The scar that stretched across his forehead puckered slightly. Mattas' stomach sank just a little. The scar wasn't just a reminder of an injury. It was a symbol of how his kid brother's life had spun out of control. Maybe it would mellow him out a little. Make him consider slacking off every now and then. Just sit down and surf the tv or the internet. Have some pizza, maybe a bag of chips and a couple of beers while he was at it. Tone the hell down.

Unlikely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Mattas slowed the car and turned into a tiny corner parking lot. Andakar glanced at the clock display on the stereo. "Do we have time for this?"

"Relax." Mattas got out of the car. "It'll only be a couple of minutes. I'm not giving up my morning rituals for you."

Andakar opened his door with a sense of resignation. He had no right to object, really. Mattas had already done so much for him. He followed his brother into the coffee shop. Above the door was a dark-stained rectangle of plywood surrounded by a frame painted green. In a sweeping script were the words _Le Sorelle—Coffee, Pastry, Sandwiches._ The glass exterior was painted to look as though you were looking through a garden. It was probably a very inviting place.

A bell tinkled as Mattas pushed the door open and Andakar followed him in. There were other people lined up at the counter, and Andakar despaired of getting out of here in a timely manner. The other patrons glanced at the newcomers and a couple of them nodded to Mattas. He nodded back. It was all very casual and relaxed, which was all right for some.

A dark-haired woman behind the counter turned to them and smiled. Lucy was the woman that his brother had been seeing for the past few months. According to Mattas, her full name was Lucia, and her sister Rosa, or just Rose, had opened this coffee shop several years ago. Their parents had owned a restaurant in their native Aerugo before fleeing the political turmoil there. Andakar had met her only a few times since his arrival in Amestris a month ago. He had turned down invitations to join the two of them for dinner or some other outing.

Also behind the counter was a round, bald man with a soft, almost childlike voice with an accent. He gave Mattas a quick wave before setting a couple of steaming brown paper cups on the counter in front of a pair of customers.

The two worked quickly, and the line moved accordingly. It really was only a matter of a few minutes before they reached the counter. Lucy let out a long sigh and leaned her arms on top of the cash register. "Hello, sweetie," she said to Mattas. Her voice was pleasantly low.

Mattas leaned in to kiss her. "Hi!" He turned to the man behind the counter. "How's it going, Gleb?"

The round man bobbed his head. "_Khorosho!_" he replied in what Andakar recognized as Drachmani. "Is good! Can't complain, you know?"

Lucy turned her violet eyes to Andakar. She always seemed to be giving him some sort of subtle appraisal. "Well, hello, stranger. Nice of you to drop by!"

Mattas nodded, giving him an affectionately proud look that he didn't feel he deserved. "Yeah. Finally got him here."

Lucy shook her finger at him. "One of these days, you're coming over for lasagna, _capisce_?"

Andakar could only nod, not having any jovial reply at the ready. Inwardly he despaired.

"I thought Rose was going to be here," Mattas said, thankfully changing the subject. "She got back late last night, didn't she?"

Lucy gave a roll of her eyes. "Yeah, she's here. I mean she's at home. She isn't up to making new friends just yet."

Mattas had said something about Lucy's sister Rose having lost her fiancé three months ago to a terminal illness and she was devastated. It was sad, but Andakar was not in a state to process other people's grief or their family dramas. He did, however, sympathize with the need to withdraw from the world.

Mattas gave a slight nod. "Still hurting, huh?"

Gleb let out a sigh and pressed a hand to his chest. "Her heart," he said, his "h's" pronounced with a softly guttural sound, "is still broke."

"Yeah, well _she's_ gonna be broke if she can't pull herself together," Lucy responded. She looked at Mattas with weary exasperation. "Once he got her on the train, Papa called me and said she seemed to be doing better, but…" She lifted her hands in an expression of frustration. "_Non so che cosa fare!_"

Gleb shook his head sadly and turned to wipe the steam spigots on the large copper espresso machine. "_Shto'zh podyelayesh?_"

"Well, if there's anything I can do, let me know," Mattas said. "Maybe I can talk to somebody in the Psych department or maybe the Health Center."

Lucy brightened a little, giving him an affectionate smile with a hint of seduction. "You're such a sweetheart!" She clapped her hands together. "So, the usual?" Mattas nodded and Lucy turned to Andakar. "How about you?"

Andakar shrugged. He didn't even want to be here. "Just coffee."

"Just plain old coffee?" Lucy's lip curled a little teasingly. "Not Ishvalan style?"

He looked at her blankly. He didn't know there was such a thing.

Mattas chuckled. "She means a red eye. That's what the other place calls them. Coffee with a shot of espresso."

Gleb was already preparing two portafilters with finely ground coffee. "Ready in a jif!" He held up two pudgy fingers. "Two jifs!"

Andakar glanced at the clock and Mattas caught him doing it. "You will not be late," he said firmly. "You've got plenty of time. We left _really_ early."

There was no blame in him voice, but Andakar took it anyway. "Sorry," he mumbled. He looked back at Lucy. "Ishvalan style will be fine."

Mattas seemed pleased. "And they've got honey pastry, too." He pointed at the glass case below the counter that displayed a variety of breads and pastries. "Almost as good as Mother makes."

That actually caught Andakar's attention and he couldn't help a glance toward the pastry case. "Really?"

Gleb bobbed his head a couple of times. "I got good making _fyil!_"

That was impressive. A Drachman living in Amestris making Ishvalan pastry. Andakar had a flash of a memory of sitting near the kitchen table watching his mother painstakingly rolling dough until it was as thin as parchment. Back when life had a simplicity that was almost unimaginable now.

Mattas grinned. "We'll take four of those."

The two behind the counter burst into action. Lucy poured out two cups of coffee, tipping a beaker of espresso into each of them. Gleb wrapped up the honey pastry and slipped them into a paper bag. In a matter of seconds, their order was on the counter.

"Thanks!" Mattas handed Andakar one of the cups then handed Lucy some money. "And there's no need to rush Rose on our account, but I'd really like to finally meet her."

Lucy waved her hand. "I'll get started on that lasagna and have you guys over soon. Then she can't escape." She moved out from behind the counter and wrapped her arms around Mattas' neck. He had a coffee cup in one hand and a bag of pastry in the other, but he leaned down to kiss her. "I'll call you later," she promised.

"Sounds good."

They headed toward the door and Lucy called out, "Good luck, Andakar! Educate the hell outta those little shits!"

He glanced back and nodded at her interesting choice of words of encouragement. They got back in the car and Mattas handed him the bag of pastry. "So, what do you think?"

Andakar took a sip of his coffee. It was very good, relentlessly strong. But he wondered if he really needed that much caffeine right now. "About Lucy? She seems nice," he replied, telling Mattas what he wanted to hear and keeping it short.

Mattas nodded. He backed the car out, saying, "I really want you to come when she asks us over for dinner."

Andakar took another swallow of coffee so he didn't have to speak for a moment. He would rather not go. He knew his brother meant well, telling him he needed to "work on his socialization skills." He only barely felt human and a social life was the last thing he wanted right now. He needed to get up in the morning, go to work, teach mathematics, and go home. But not only was he obliged to respect his brother as the elder, he owed Mattas for taking him in and helping him find his job. He knew his parents loved him, but he had become…an embarrassment was the truest way to put it. They loved him but they couldn't get him on the train fast enough. Mattas had welcomed him without prying. But that was because he probably already knew everything.

"Yes, of course I'll come," he replied finally. "But don't expect me to be very good company." He didn't mean that out of spite. He knew what his limitations were.

Mattas just shrugged as he pulled out into traffic. "You don't have to be. But it'll be a start."

* * *

Maes Hughes stood leaning against the open door of his classroom as students filtered in. "Here we go! Another day in paradise!" he declared.

Other than a nod to acknowledge that cheerful piece of irony, Andakar had no reply. He was already speechless. He knew Amestrian schools were different. He thought he was prepared. But the shouting, the jostling, the slamming of locker doors in the hallways seemed closer to the cacaphony of the damned than paradise.

He stepped into his own classroom, across the hall from Hughes'. It was already nearly full, with a few more students entering. It was not as noisy in here as in the hallway, but it was still not what he was used to. What he was used to was sudden quiet and the sound of students rising from their seats in respect as he entered the room. He already knew that wasn't going to happen. If he could simply latch onto the basic familiarity of standing in front of a classroom of students, that should be enough.

He had mentally prepared himself for what came next but that didn't make it any easier to endure. A gradual hush fell over the room, punctuated by a few whispers. He glanced up to catch the majority of the students staring at him. Not at his _chuva_ or his painstakingly tied tie. Their gazes lifted a little higher than that, to his forehead. The moment his eyes swept the room, they all looked away, suddenly fascinated by their desks, their books, their pencils, each other. He had either awed or repulsed them. He told himself he didn't really care.

Actually, not all of them looked away. One young man sitting a couple of seats from the front still had his eyes fixed on the scar with a slight frown on his face. His look was almost distracted, as though he didn't even realize he was staring. Andakar focused on the young man's eyes, which were a curious shade of gold. His hair was long and tied back in a braid. Andakar was aware that the school dress code did not require that boys keep their hair short, as long as it was kept somehow restrained. He had noticed that another boy in the room was apparently testing the limits of the dress code by merely keeping his dreadlocks in place with a headband. Parents had apparently complained about the prohibition of "personal expression." Andakar was mystified, but there it was.

As soon as the golden-eyed young man realized that his stare was being reciprocated, he frowned a little and looked down as the spiral-bound notebook in front of him. He slipped a pen out from where it had been stored within the coil of the wire spiral and gave it a few clicks.

The bell rang, breaking the spell that seemed to have fallen over the room. The students shifted in their seats, having processed their surprise at his disfigurement and hopefully prepared to move on. Andakar looked across the faces before him.

"Good morning," he said.

He knew he wouldn't here a respectful murmured chorus of _good morning, Zhaarad_ from them. There were one or two subdued replies of _'morning_, a few _hi's_, a couple of _s'up's, _and a _yo_.

He pulled his binder and the stack of syllabi from his satchel. Opening up the binder he went on. "My name is Andakar Ruhad. When I call your name, please raise your hand and say 'here.'"

He started through the alphabetical list of names. The first one had caught his interest immediately because the last name was Ishvalan. "Rik Arber."

"Here," a voice from the back of the class replied. The boy had been slouching in his seat with a ball cap on his head. He raised his hand and peeked up under the bill of his cap, revealing scarlet eyes and tawny brown skin. He might have been hiding his face to escape notice, and he was not wearing a _chuva. _There could have been several reasons why, but to a certain extent, Andakar supposed he could understand.

"Please remove your cap while inside the school building, Mr. Arber."

The boy smirked, more apologetically than impudently, to his credit. "Sorry," he murmured.

The next few names called elicited replies without incident. Then he called the name "Alphonse Elric."

"Here!" The reply was spoken in a clear tone and Andakar looked to locate its source. A young man a few seats away from the front sat up in his seat with his arm raised. He had an intelligent, open countenance and, curiously enough, the same golden eyes as the other boy, who happened to be sitting next to him. They were unmistakably brothers, or perhaps cousins.

"Edward Elric."

Sure enough, the boy with the braid raised his hand. "Here."

Beyond their coloring, the two boys seemed to have little in common, the foremost being that Alphonse looked like he wanted to be here. Edward did not. Not that he had any choice. This one was going to give him trouble, he could feel it.

Andakar continued down the list. Most of the students answered readily and with varying degrees of respect or enthusiasm.

"Paninya Robinson."

"I'm here!" A dark-complexioned girl wearing overalls shot her hand up with a bright smile. That, he supposed, was a good sign.

"Winry Rockbell."

There was no reply at first and Andakar looked up with a frown. Paninya hissed a hurried whisper at the girl sitting next to her, whose blonde head was bent over her notebook, in which she was hurriedly scribbling. Her head snapped up, her clear blue eyes widened, and her cheeks turned red. "Oh! Here! Sorry!"

He would not normally have allowed that sort of distraction in his class. If this was Ishval, he would have made her stand up and announce to the class what she had been doing. It tended to discourage that sort of behavior. But the girl seemed so sincerely contrite that Andakar found himself fighting the impulse to demand what had so arrested her attention. It was only roll-call, after all. He would certainly remember her.

After a few more names he called out "Nicolo Vorace."

The reply came as a groaning sound followed by a number of snickers. Andakar looked up with a frown and repeated with an edge to his voice. "Nicolo Vorace!"

"Here," came a sullen reply. The young man with the dreads lifted his hand limply. "And it's N.V."

Andakar considered him for a moment, mentally tagging him as _Problem Student Number One_. "Excuse me?"

Mr. Vorace rolled his eyes, which earned him a deeper scowl. "I go by N.V. You cool with that?"

If his impudence had not been tempered by a barely perceptible tone of deference, Andakar would have informed him in no uncertain terms just how not cool he was with that. It irked him just a little but he let it go. He was not here to win anyone's affection, but neither was he here to prompt too many complaints from Amestrian parents who couldn't teach their children manners. He needed to learn to compromise. He did not necessarily want to establish himself as a complete tyrant. Not yet at least.

He made a note next to Mr. Vorace's name. "Very well, Mr. N.V." This drew a few more brief snickers which Andakar chose to ignore. He moved on.

"Lan Fan Yao."

"Here!" A Xingese girl raised her hand. Andakar glanced at her, taking in a quietly earnest expression. She sat straight in her seat and her textbook was already open. _Another eager one, thank Ishvala._

"Ling Yao."

"I'm always last!" a voice mourned cheerfully, causing most of the students to laugh. "Oh, yeah! Here!"

Sitting behind Alphonse Elric was a Xingese boy with a jovial demeanor to match his remark. Possibly related to Lan Fan, but it could just be coincidence. He was another one with his hair tied back. Andakar mentally categorized him as _Harmless But Distracting_. He would need monitoring.

That was the end of his class list. Andakar picked up the stack of syllabi and moved to the first desk in the first row. After a quick count, he handed that student a number of the stapled papers. "Pass those down, please."

He repeated the process until a sufficient number was handed out and he returned to the front. "Please read through these. They contain a class outline and a code of conduct that I expect to be adhered to. I have also included my telephone number and email address here at the school that I expect not to be abused." The idea of being so accessible was distasteful and provoked dread, but he was required to include the information. "Please take these home and have your parents sign the final page. I would like those turned in by Friday at the very latest."

As he spoke, the students flipped through the syllabus with varying degrees of interest. The wording he had used was as clear and concise as he could possibly make it but he asked anyway. "Does anyone have any questions?"

A few of the students shook their heads, the rest continuing to read through the handout or slide them into their binders or backpacks.

"I have a question." Edward Elric had his hand raised.

"Yes?" Andakar prompted, picking up a copy of the syllabus for reference.

The boy tapped himself on the spot between his eyebrows. "How'd you get that?"

The room grew quiet with only a couple of rapid whispers and the breath of an incredulous giggle. Andakar met the boy's gaze, somewhat incredulous himself. Edward held his eyes steady. His interest seemed clinical rather than out of concern or frivolous curiosity.

"Geez, Ed!" Ling Yao muttered behind Ed, giving the bottom of his seat a kick. "Nosy much?"

"Look, it's probably the first thing everybody wondered as soon as we got in here," Ed said, as much to Andakar as to answer Ling. "So I figured we might as well cut to the chase."

As much as he was affronted by the boy's question, however genuine his interest, there was a certain logic to that statement and Andakar was inclined to agree with it. There was bound to be an unseemly amount of speculation.

"It was the result of a building explosion nearly two years ago in Ishval," Andakar replied simply, which was all the explanation they were going to get.

A small, sharp gasp came from the third row. Winry Rockbell sat momentarily frozen in her seat, her face pale. Then she lowered her eyes to the scribbled page of her notebook and kept them there. The other students around her, Edward, Alphonse, Paninya, Ling, and Lan Fan, glanced at her in sympathy and concern. Andakar watched her for a moment with a strange sinking feeling in his chest, but since no one volunteered any explanation, he didn't pursue the matter. He also wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Then Edward turned back around in his seat, and for a moment so fleeting Andakar nearly missed it, the boy fixed him with a dark, accusing glare before bending down to pull his textbook out of his backpack and clapping it onto the top of his desk.

Mystified once again and not a little annoyed, Andakar seriously considered moving Mr. Elric to the position of _Problem Student Number One._

* * *

**As you can see, I've introduced a couple more canon characters and I've done some name/relationship/tweaking, among other things. Lucy/Lust and Rose are originally from Aerugo, which I am more or less patterning after Italy. Gleb/Gluttony is from Drachma which is generally patterned after Soviet Russia.**

**Here are some translations of various languages:**

_**Non so che cosa fare**=_I don't know what to do

_**Shto'zh podyelayesh?**=_What can you do?

**_fyil_**=basically phyllo dough

_**Zhaarad**_=Ishvalan term of respect, equivalent to "Master."

**In my eagerness to get this posted, I sincerely hope I don't end up having to go back and change stuff because I forgot something or I was suddenly struck with a better idea :P**


	3. Chapter 3

**After this, the chapters won't come out so quickly. I have to tread carefully with this one. I also have to get back to The Little Prince, for one thing. Also, real life...**

**Chapter 3**

"I can't believe you're eating that!"

Lan Fan looked up from her Styrofoam lunch tray with a frown. "I like stuffed cabbage and they don't make it very often."

Ed dropped down across from her. "The first day of school and we get slapped in the with cabbage stank. I love this place."

Lan Fan just shrugged. "Deal with it."

Paninya swallowed a bite from her veggie-salad sandwich. "Don't judge, Ed. I could go off on all of you for eating meat, but do I? No."

Ed shook his head and dealt with it. He dunked the point of his pizza into his tiny cup of ranch dressing. "Remember when they used to leave out the big jar of dressing and you could just pump all you wanted? I miss that."

"It made a huge mess, Ed," Alphonse reminded him. "And between the pizza and the chicken nuggets and the fries, they were using up more than they were supposed to and they got in trouble with the head of food service. That's what Mrs. Jensen said, anyway."

Mrs. Jensen was one of the lunch ladies, all of whom adored Alphonse and would have gladly given him all the ranch dressing he wanted.

Lan Fan and Paninya slid apart to let Winry sit between them. She had also chosen the stuffed cabbage. Ed let out a sigh that everybody ignored. "It's not nearly as good as Granny's," Winry remarked. "But it's not too bad."

Lan Fan nodded. "Your granny makes the _best_!"

Ling sat down next to Ed and picked up his sub sandwich. "The best what? Cookies? Cuz, yeah! Uncle's always going on about Granny's cookies. And her pie. And those things there that she makes that look like they came out of a cow."

Ed nearly spit his food out and Lan Fan gave them a glower of disgust.

"Hey, Winry," Aphonse spoke up. "Are you doing okay? You know, from this morning?"

Winry looked up from her tray, meeting the gazes of her friends that were all now on her. "Um…yeah, I'm okay."

"You sure?" Ed demanded in angry remorse. "I'm really sorry!"

Winry smiled at him. "It's okay, Ed. You don't have to keep apologizing. You didn't know it was going to end up being a trigger kind of thing."

Ed shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm still sorry. I shouldn't even have asked about it. I should've kept my big mouth shut."

Both Paninya and Ling stood up with their fists in the air. "I don't believe it! He said it himself!" Paninya exclaimed.

"Now I can die!" Ling cried.

Ed stole one of Ling's tater tots. "I wish you would."

Alphonse chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, it was pretty much out of line, Ed."

"Hey guys!" Rik slid onto the bench next to Paninya. "You've got a sprout or something hanging off your chin."

Paninya gave an embarrassed little start and put her fingers to her chin, snatching off the alfalfa sprout.

"I'm pretty sure Mr. Ruhad wasn't too happy," Alphonse went on.

"Yeah, well I don't think it made much of a difference," Ed replied. "That guy is, like, seriously…" He frowned, looking for the right word.

"_Chushahai_," Rik said knowingly. They all turned to him, curious, and he went on. "I'm not sure what it means literally, but it's basically really conservative."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Oh, great!"

Rik frowned a little. "Well, not like politically. More like really proper and old-fashioned."

"He gives me the creeps," Ed muttered. "I don't know why. And it's not the scar. He just gives off, like, negative waves or something." He gestured broadly with his hands to illustrate waves coming off himself.

"Are you sure you're not just projecting?" Lan Fan asked. "Because—and I mean this constructively—you're kind of a negative person."

"I am _not_!"

Lan Fan lifted her hands. "I rest my case."

Ed opened his mouth then closed and gave a wry half grin. "Okay, maybe a little."

Lan Fan reached out and patted Ed's arm. "Baby steps."

The others laughed, which would have dispelled the tension if there had been any. This had been their usual banter since middle school, when they first became the tight-knit group they were now. They might have thought twice about taking a bullet for each other, but they'd at least think about it.

"You know," Rik said in the tone of sharing a confidence. "I've seen Mr. Ruhad at the temple. He started going there a few weeks ago with his brother."

"Oh, man, there's two of 'em?" Ed asked incredulously.

Rik shook his head. "No, his brother's pretty chill. He teaches at the university."

"So how come Mr. Ruhad wasn't all _fancy meeting you here?" _Paninya remarked.

Rik lifted his shoulders. "We haven't been hanging around after prayers for the chit-chat. My dad's been doin' the weekend warrior thing on our back yard and he's been wanting to get back to it. But I recognized Mr. Ruhad the minute he walked through the door. You don't miss a guy like that. He's kind of really solid and just...there. I mean _there_, you know? There's some teachers you can just kind of look through and as long as you take notes you get through the class. You can't look through this guy. You can't even read him."

Ed nodded and the others nodded. "Yeah, I think I know what you mean."

"He reminds me of the old people back in Ishval," Rik went on. "Like my great-grandmother. She's, like, two hundred years old and I have to talk really, really respectfully to her. Oh! And I have to do this thing where I have to take her gnarly old hand and touch the back of it to my forehead!" Rik shuddered. "We have to go back there to see her once a year because my _djaari_—my grandpa—is always saying that it'll be our last chance, but it never is."

"But this guy's not old," Ling said. "I mean not _old _old. He's, what, thirty, tops?"

Ed shrugged. "Whatever. At least we've got him for first period. Makes the rest of the day seem so much easier." He turned his attention back to Winry. "You sure you're okay?"

Winry let out a sigh of exasperation mingled with long-suffering patience. "Yes, Ed. I'm fine. It's been nearly two years." She smiled at the faces she shared the table with. "And all that time you guys have been awesome. I don't think I could've gotten through it without you!"

Both Paninya and Lan Fan squealed and wrapped their arms around their friend. Ling gave her his pudding and Rik offered her his second carton of chocolate milk.

Ed felt a little better. When Winry's parents died in that explosion when they were visiting Ishval, she kind of fell apart. He and Al knew what losing a parent was like. Their mother's death would always be a wound that never quite healed over and would open up every now and then. But at least they had seen it coming. Winry was never given even that small mercy. It was just _bam_—literally—and they were gone. All because of some messed-up fringe group of Ishvalans who had it in for Amestrians.

It was just too weird of a coincidence that Mr. Ruhad had been injured in what was probably the same attack. How come he survived and Winry's folks didn't? It just seemed so unfair and…Ed couldn't even put into words what bothered him so much about it, as though he wanted to blame the Ishvalan teacher for the massacre. He wanted to blame somebody. While the others fussed over Winry, which he probably should have been joining in on, his moments of feeling a little better deserted him.

He wanted to blame somebody, it didn't help, but it was all he had.

* * *

"I was talking to King today."

Solf kept his expression bland as he lifted his wine glass to his lips. _I was talking to King_, as innocuous at it sounded, was usually the preface for a diatribe on all his failings. After the first couple of times, Solf finally clued in on the fact that Principal Bradley was basically spying on him and reporting back to Solf Sr. He could have quit his job at the school, but considering the strings that had been pulled to get him the position, his father would have been less than pleased. Dad was unlikely to go to that much trouble twice. Also, the alternative would be worse, considering the taut web of strings that were attached.

_I'm gonna throw an old-fashioned word at you, Solf. It's "wastrel." You know what that means?_

_Yeah, Dad, I know what that means._

_Well, that's a damn time saver! And get that smartass look off your face!_

Solf set down his glass and turned his attention to the ribeye steak on his plate. Once or twice a week, his father would send him a text. _Come over for dinner. _It wasn't a hearty, paternal slap-on-the-back invitation. It was a summons that he was expected to obey. On the one hand, the food was always good. Almost good enough to make up for his father's raking scrutiny and his self-absorbed monologues that were meant to be quality time with his son. Solf was expected to play along, nod, and give the right answers.

"What did you talk about?" he asked, displaying an interest he didn't feel.

Solf Sr. sat back and addressed the young man who stood in attendance close by. "Ted, go grab me some more of that horseradish."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Kimblee!" Ted scooted off promptly, leaving them momentarily alone in the dining room. It had nothing to do with keeping their conversation private. Solf Sr. had no qualms about humiliating his son in front of the help. He was a self-made millionaire and he had nothing but contempt for anyone who wasn't similarly motivated, like those Armstrongs, whose money was so old it still had primordial soup stains on it. He also really liked horseradish.

His father sat back in his chair. "King said he hired an Ishvalan over at the school."

Solf couldn't help lifting an eyebrow. Maybe this wasn't about him. He could feel his father's eyes on him from the other end of the table, waiting for a reaction.

He nodded. "He sure did." Until he knew where this was going, he wouldn't volunteer any additional information.

"I thought maybe he was talking about a new janitor or something, but no. As a new teacher." His father let out a little grunt of a laugh. "You should've heard King's little speech. He was trying to tell me that he wants to reach out to minorities, to encourage them, to give them the same opportunities as any other Amestrian citizen. So I says to him, and this has nothing to do with getting extra money from the government, right?" He chuckled again, making a gravelly sound. "So he gets that little smile of his and says, well, it doesn't hurt."

Solf Sr. shook his head, his momentary good humor gone. "I've known King a long time. He's as solid as they come. But I gotta wonder how much of this goody-two-shoes thing is an act, y'know?"

Yeah, Solf knew, and he nodded. He'd heard variations on this speech before. He sometimes wondered himself about his boss. There was definitely a hard core somewhere underneath the benevolent patriarch that was King Bradley. Personally, he didn't care if the man starred in the next high school musical, if he wanted to put on an act, let him. As long as he got paid.

Ted returned with a fresh bowl of horseradish sauce. Solf was tempted to pity his father's bowel movements, but the temptation was not a strong one. How cool would it be to get a frantic call from Ted in the middle of the night informing him that his father had been found dead in his bathroom, scorch marks on the wall. Solf Sr. slathered the stuff onto his beef and stuck it in his mouth. Solf liked his steaks unadulterated and put a large piece in his own mouth so he wouldn't have to talk for a moment or two.

Solf Sr. worked his mouthful a bit to the side. "So, you've worked with this Ishvalan yet?"

Solf had to rush through getting his steak down his throat. He took a gulp of wine and shook his head. "Not much, yet. It was just the first day. We've been in a couple of meetings, but he's not the talkative type." He neglected to mention that something about the new guy intimidated and unnerved him. He was like a solid block of cold, earnest granite. But Dad would probably want some juicier details. "Oh, and he's got this scar across his face. Kinda hard not to stare at it."

Solf Sr. shrugged dismissively. "Great," he grunted. "Well, all I can say is I hope King knows what the hell he's doing, 'cause I sure wouldn't have taken one of them on." His paused and Solf made the mistake of glancing across the table at him just in time to catch the narrow look. "They're bad news."

Okay, so maybe this was about him, after all, however veiled. Solf took it like a man and gave a nod. "They're poison," he agreed.

* * *

**I could have split these two scenes up into separate chapters, but they had certain parallels. The first scene rambled a little, a bit more of a character expose than advancing the plot. I was also sort of drawing on personal experience. I used to be a school lunch lady.**


End file.
